Page 5 of Unspoken Words
“My notebook.”
“What’s it for?”
“For writing in.”
Connor scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No shit, smarty-pants.”
I glared at him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I use it to write stuff in.”
“What kind of stuff?” He removed the guitar from his lap and propped it against the rock he was sitting on.
I shrugged. “I dunno. Stuff I see, smell, hear, and touch.”
Connor’s curiosity was weird. It also made me a little nervous, and I wasnevernervous, especially around boys. Boys were kinda dumb and boring.
He scratched his head. “So it’s your diary?”
“No, not really.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You don’t neeeeeed to get it,” I said, defensively.
“I know, but I saw you write something when you weren’t ‘reeeeeally hiding’ behind that tree,” he said, copying me. “What did you write?”
Oh my God! Rude much?
“Nothing.” I shook my head, heat rising to the surface of my cheeks. What I wrote in my notebook was private.
Connor picked his guitar up and twanged a string. “You’re lying.”
“I am not. I mean, I did writesomething, but it was nothing.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Oh my God, he so annoying.
Huffing, I opened my notebook to the page I’d just scribbled on. “Fine. It says magic, honey, giant, sunset, sweet and beautiful.” The very second those words left my mouth I wanted to pull them back in, chew them like a toffee, and swallow them whole. They’d sounded so dumb said aloud.“They’re just … stupid words,” I mumbled, snapping my notebook shut, the simmer in my cheeks now searing to a burn.
I spun on my heel, ready to run all the way home if I had to. I didn’t care how long it would take. An hour. A day. An eternity. I wanted to flee this hellhole and be far, far away from this magical, annoying boy.
“WAIT!” he called out. “I, uh, I sing the things I can’t say.”
I paused my escape. It was such a strange confession, but it was the honesty and apprehension in his voice that had me slowly turning back to face him. “That’s … er … pretty cool.”
Connor looked away, stood up, and went to leave instead, and, strangely enough, I didn’t want him to go either. He was odd in an interesting and mysterious way, and I was all of a sudden keen to discover more about him, starting with his unspoken words.
Quickly changing the subject, I asked about him moving to Greenhills. “So … where did you used to live?”
“Portsea.” He picked up a rock, stepped to the water’s edge, and skimmed it across the surface. I watched it bounce two, three times before it disappeared into the river.
“Oh, that must’ve been awesome! I’ve always wanted to live by the beach. I will one day, you know.”
He nodded then shrugged. “It’s okay … if you like sand.”
“Ilovesand!”
I did. It wassomuch better than poo-brown dirt.
